“That’s not good enough. Becquer’s not answering his phone. Maybe he dropped it and can’t reach it.”
“Or maybe he’s just sleeping.”
“Let’s hope that is the case. You didn’t hear me knocking or coming in, and, according to Federico, you didn’t answer the house phone either. A most irresponsible behavior. So, if you don’t want me to report you to your employer, I’d appreciate it if you checked on Mr. Becquer right away and ask him if he would see me.”
“Now? But he’s probably sleeping.”
“It’s only eight o’clock. Isn’t it a little early?”
“He was tired after the meeting,” David said, his tone clearly stating this was none of my business. “He went directly to his room and asked me not to disturb him. He even canceled his dinner.”
Dinner? The image of Becquer having dinner resonated strangely in my mind. Becquer was an immortal and immortals do not eat. Not human food, anyway.
“Did he eat the other days?” I asked, before realizing how stupid I sounded.
David looked at me, nonplussed. “Yes, of course.”
Of course. I shivered with apprehension. Could Federico be right? Had the Elders changed Becquer back to being human? The signs that this was true were becoming more difficult to ignore. And yet, I didn’t want to believe it because if Becquer was, indeed, human, his retiring struck me as being as bad an omen as Richard had made it sound.
“I need to talk to Becquer,” I insisted. “Either you go and ask him whether he’ll see me, or I’ll go to his room.”
I turned toward the stairs when David didn’t move. His voice stopped me. “Mr. Becquer is not in his old room. It was not practical for him to live on the second floor.”
Too late, I realized that knowing where Becquer’s bedroom was might have given David the wrong idea. Not that it really mattered, yet I found myself blushing.
“Then where is he?” I asked, as sternly as I could manage to hide my embarrassment.
David sighed. “The room next to his study.”
It made sense, I thought as I followed him. Yet it saddened me that Becquer had had to give up the comfort of his own room.
“Would you please let me talk with him first?” David asked as we reached the corridor.
I nodded, somehow relieved. For all my bravado, I was not looking forward to confronting Becquer. I was afraid, immortal or not, he would be able to see through me, to see how much I cared for him and how distressed I was at his current predicament.
My heart pounding, I leaned against the wall and tried to follow Becquer’s advice on how to block my feelings, while David walked to the door beside the study and knocked twice. There was no answer.
David looked back at me. “I told you he’s sleeping,” he whispered.
Becquer, a human Becquer, would have heard us outside his door. Were he immortal he’d have sensed me coming, even before I’d reached the house. Was he immortal and avoiding me or was he human and sleeping? In either case, I should be leaving. But what if … ?
Ignoring David’s attempts to stop me, I grabbed the knob and pushed the door open.
Becquer was sitting on his bed, propped against a pillow. Despite the darkness inside, I could tell he was wearing the dark shirt he had worn in the afternoon. Thus, I guessed, he was still fully dressed, although I couldn’t tell for sure because a dark comforter up to his waist concealed his legs. His arms fell lifeless by his side and, once I got closer, I saw his eyes were closed.
I called his name and, when he didn’t react, I took one of his hands in mine, and repeated his name louder and louder, until I was screaming.
“Ms. Esteban!”
David was by my side, pulling at my arm. I pushed him hard to free myself, and leaning over Becquer, I shook him by his shoulders.
Again, David pulled me back. “Please, let me handle this.”
I turned. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”
David picked up a prescription bottle from the bedspread, and showed it to me. “Sleeping pills,” he said, pointing at the label. “He took them all,” he added when shaking the bottle failed to produce a sound.
I gasped. “You left the pills within his reach?”
“Please move. I need to force him to get rid of them.”
David’s voice was calm where mine had been frantic and when I looked up at him, ready to argue, I met not the eyes of the careless boy I had found playing video games, but the pragmatic stare of a professional nurse.
“Call 9-1-1 and tell them what happened,” David prompted me. “Ask them to send an ambulance at once.”
He had unbuttoned Becquer’s shirt while he talked and checked for a pulse on his neck where the scar from Beatriz’s vicious attack was still visible. Becquer’s face was gaunt, his breathing, if he was breathing, too shallow for me to notice. Was he alive? Or were we already too late?
Fighting the panic that threatened to engulf me, I grabbed the phone from the bedside table and made the call.
Chapter Seventeen: Becquer’s Letter
By the time the paramedics arrived, Becquer was still unconscious, but at least his breathing was regular. David had forced him to empty his stomach. Whether we had gotten all the pills from his system in time was too early to say, we were told. Without further reassurance, we were asked to move aside while they connected the IV to his arm, transferred him to a stretcher, and hurried him to the ambulance.
When they told us only one person was allowed to drive with him, David nodded to me. “You go. I’ve done all I can. Besides, I’ve to get things ready here before Mr. Becquer comes home.”
I doubted that would happen that night, but David felt it was his responsibility to clean up before the ten o’clock shift arrived. At least, that is what he told me. My guess was that allowing me to go with Becquer was his way of thanking me for agreeing not to tell his employer he had been playing games when I came in.
Like Federico, I believed that if Becquer wanted to die, he would have found a way. David did not know about the pills, he’d told me, and he had reacted well to the emergency. Guessing that Becquer would not have wanted David punished for his decision, I chose not to say anything that could incriminate him.
Chris, the paramedic who was to ride with us, helped me into the back of the ambulance then motioned me to sit by Becquer. I had barely done so when the strident sound of the siren broke into the night, drowning the roar of the engines as the vehicle started.
Despite David’s efforts, Becquer had never been totally conscious back at the house. But now he opened his eyes.
“Becquer,” I whispered and leaned closer in order to hear him over the blaring of the siren.
He stared at me for a moment then frowned. “Carla?” His voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. “What are you doing here?”
He tried to sit as he spoke, but his arms gave way and he fell back.
“Don’t move.”
Becquer moaned. “What happened? Where am I?”
“There was an accident. We’re taking you to the hospital.”
“An accident?” For a moment he looked confused then, as understanding dawned in his eyes, he grabbed the tubing from the IV and yanked it from his arm.
Immediately Chris was upon him. Becquer fought back with energy I didn’t imagine he could have. But the fight didn’t last long. Soon, the paramedic had him restrained and bound to the stretcher. Once the IV was again dripping in his arm, Chris moved back.
“Don’t get him excited,” he told me, as if I were the one responsible for Becquer’s reaction. But seeing no
